


Solidify

by Shadows_of_Fire_and_Blood



Series: In The End It's Him And I [3]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Black Order (Marvel) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Consensual Rough Sex, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Miscarriage, Slavery, Sudden Infant Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:35:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23428567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadows_of_Fire_and_Blood/pseuds/Shadows_of_Fire_and_Blood
Summary: For most people, their life isn’t defined by one single unbearable moment or traumatic experience, but many of these. They wear the person down and eventually change who the person might have become had they not occurred.All her life, all Proxima seemed to be able to do was lose.
Relationships: Corvus Glaive/Proxima Midnight, mentions of Proxima Midnight/original male charecter
Series: In The End It's Him And I [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1551904
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. Her Innocence

**Author's Note:**

> Based on headcanons, a few of which I've mentioned in my Oneshot Series In The End, It's him and I.
> 
> This is just a deeper look on my take at Proxima Midnight's backstory and how and why she became a Child Of Thanos

At seven cycles old, Proxima and her brother Centauri were the youngest of six siblings.

Every Rheanarian known was born with a twin, a twin with whom they shared a unique bond. It wasn’t impossible for Rheanarian’ to be born with a twin of the same gender but it was considered extremely rare.

As infants Rheanarians' could move perhaps several feet from their twin but no more than that, but as they grew and matured it was natural, if not expected, to test this bond, tugging at it, stretching it in order to prepare to move on, to live their own lives.

Not many children however, tried at such a young age.

“Proxima!” 

“Come on Cen, hurry up!” 

Proxima reached the enormous tree at the edge of their yard, Centauri coming to a stop behind her  
Proxima looked at her twin with determination 

“I’ll start walking, you stay here” she grinned, orange eyes alit as ever with mischief and curiosity. They’d been planning this for weeks, waiting until the perfect time to sneak away.  
“What if…” Centauri, ever the more cautious, level headed one, remained hesitant. 

While Proxima’s mask like marking spread across her forehead, reaching past her eyes, Centauries’ ended on his eyelids. Her hair ended at her shoulders, his was slicked back to the nape of his neck.

Like the rest of their people, they both possessed a tattooed line from their lower lip to their chins. It was customary for the process was carried out when children were just three months old and most grew up without remembering the day at all.

Proxima sighed “Cen…if we’re going to join the Elite Army when we’re older like Luna and Crescent we have to be able to separate! Remember? They said it’s the first lesson they start teaching when you join”

Proxima paused, becoming more enthusiastic in convincing her brother

“Imagine it Cen! We can be the youngest twins to separate more than a few feet, howproud mother and father will be!” she grinned, tugging her brothers hand in animated excitement.

Centauri blinked at his sister; a hyper, hurricane of a child, with an indulgent smile.  
“Go on then!” he urged

Proxima released his hand and started to move, walking back the way they had come.  
Centauri’s trepidation spiked the further away Proxima got.

Proxima continued walking, reaching the limit of their link.

Suddenly she was…unhappy, miserable. Her previous enthusiasm gone  
She shuddered, feeling the urge to turn back but she refused. 

She flinched when Centauris’ distressed cry cut through her like a blade. Still she walked. 

Her palms s=where shaking, and clammy. She and her brother had contracted a fever last winter…it was nothing compared to what she felt in that moment.

There was a sharp tug, right in her heart…she knew her brother was feeling it as well, the nauseating mixture of physical and emotional pain 

“Don’t, Proxima…no more!” Centauri sobbed, sounding every bit the child he and Proxima really where, despite their bravado. 

Finally Proxima turned, a short wail of longing rising from deep in her chest

She stumbled to her twin, falling on her knees with him as they clung to each other

“Cen…” she sobbed

Her brothers fist twisted against her back 

“I thought we were going to break apart!” he admitted. He was so sure their link was going to tear, rip them apart before they were ready.  
Proxima shook her head “No. No no.” she insisted

After taking a few moments she got to her feet, pulling her twin with her. They furiously wiped their eyes

“Maybe…we can wait a bit more” Proxima stated, still waiting for the unhappy feeling in her chest to subside.

“Like, a year or so?” Centauri added, causing Proxima to chuckle

The twins walked back to their home hand in hand. 

Unable to leave each-others sides for the rest of the night, they insisted on sleeping curled against each other in the same bed. Their parents held their suspicions, but felt no need to reprimand their youngest twins…the pain and misery that separating too soon caused was punishment, and warning enough to deter them from tying again.

A week later…Cen was gone

At seven cycles old and killed by a group of young Rheanarians just a few years older than he and his twin.

It had started a simple teasing, childish, over all a harmless. But when Proxima could contain her temper no longer, she’d shoved one of the older boys, whose sister had been on herin moments.

The group of bickering children tussled and grappled…until Centauri was pushed too hard, he’d failed and fallen on a sharp rock.

In shock and fear the group had scattered, leaving Proxima desperately trying to wake her twin…his navy blood staining her hands.  
A group of adults found her, their parents among them...

“He fell…he hit his head” Proxima stammered loudly, the shock was making her shudder violently,  
Their mother screamed. 

It was too late. 

Proxima had to be dragged away from her deceased twins side kicking and wailing.

From then on Proxima’s wild enthusiasm was extinguished; gone in an instant, along with her twin. 

After a week of muted shock, she only spoke when necessary. What use were words…when her twin was no longer around to hear? To share her thoughts and feelings as his own, to finish her entrances as though they were one being?

After Centauris’ death, what respect her family once had was shattered.

A child that had no twin…they might as well have had no arms, or no horns.

Other Rheanarians would stare. Some would spit, hiss slurs and profanities at her and her family. She was never blamed for what happened to Centauri…but even her parents and siblings never looked at the same.

Her father still agreed to train her, so that she might still have a chance of joining the elite guard, believing that If she showed exceptional promise in weaponry and combat perhaps they might overlook the fact that she was…broken.


	2. Her Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly different from the first chapter as this is from Proxima's pov during a conversation with Corvus  
> I have uploaded this chapter under other worls before so apologies for the repetition, it just fits better as part of Proxima's back story rather than a stand alone piece or part of my oneshot series.

**Present day;**

Corvus Glaive lifted his weapon, about to stab through the flesh of the body lying in-front of him – another massacre completed, another planet ‘saved’. The only thing left was to make sure the corpses were and remained exactly that.

But before he could bring down the glaive, he was stopped when another weapon met his – the harsh ‘clang’ of sturdy metal echoed across the bloody battlefield and Corvus looked to his right, to his shock his lover; Proxima Midnight, who held her three pronged spear firmly to prevent his actions,

“She’s dead. Leave it.” she commanded, pushing against the weight of the arm holding his glaive, hard before turning and stalking away. Corvus watched her retreat with a look of surprise.

Casting another glance at the body at his feet; it was clearly female and, now that Corvus had given her a second look he saw she was lying on her stomach, pale and bleeding, and clutching the still body of an infant; her body positioned over it protectively.

Frowning, Corvus looked behind him, to Proximas’ retreating form unsure of the reason behind her actions, he considered simply, and subtly nicking the artery in the female’s throat with the point of the weapons blade. Instead he turned and begrudgingly followed Proxima away from the battle field.

Proxima stood at the sink in the washroom connected to her chambers washing dried blood, dirt and grit from her hands. Picking at the congealed blood under fingernails and scrubbing at the skin until thin streaks of blood contaminated the water, Proxima shut off the hot tap and watched the streaks of her own blood swirl down the drain.

She was angry; very angry; at herself and her loss of composure on the battlefield hours earlier, as a warrior she was proud of her ability to keep her emotions buried, her resolve solid and her heart stern; especially in battle.

Although, she thought in that moment, since her relationship with Corvus had evolved she felt more able, more _willing_ , to drop her guard and her protective barriers. But today she had gone too far, when she’d prevented Corvus’ glaive from stabbing through that female’s back, Proxima had seen the shock in his eyes when he’d looked at her, and she also knew that Corvus would not forget about it as she had briefly hoped, she also knew the conversation that would come as soon as he returned and she was…afraid, which enraged her further.

The sound of metal meeting the steel floor of the Sanctuary 2 was the only thing Corvus heard as he walked briskly down the hall towards Proxima’s chamber.

After his hour long meeting with Thanos immediately after returning from the mission Corvus was now focused on Proxima’s actions, he was confused, he’d seen the look in her eye when she’d stopped him; behind the usual firmness he could see something else, something…haunted.

He reached the doors and pressed the intercom, there was a drawn-out buzz and the doors opened just enough for Corvus to step inside; in a split second the doors closed and Corvus grunted as his spine hit the metal hard, Proxima’s fists dug into the material of his suit, her lips pressed against his, harsh and demanding.

Corvus caught the tops of her arms and returned the kiss on instinct but only for a moment before pulling her away, yet she remained insistent

“Please” she gulped, she sounded like she’d been crying, but before Corvus could question her as he intended she repeated her plea

“Please, I know what you’re going to say, before I tell you just…please…” she choked, pushing her forehead into his neck, her fingers dug into his spine and her body grinded into his.

At a loss and sensing her plea was a desperate one, Corvus relented. Giving her everything she desired, all that she demanded of him; his claws at her back, his teeth at her neck until she bled, his pace almost brutal and his thrusts hard enough to bruise.

Still she begged for more, with her back arching against the harsh metal doors, her legs wrapped around Corvus’ waist.

She threw her head back in a silent, wavering scream as she came.

Neither of them acknowledged the icy tears that flowed in a steady stream across her dark cheeks.

Hours later Proxima lay in a tangle of bed sheets, lying on her side with Corvus behind her, he partly sitting up and tracing a hand over her arm while the other brushed navy tresses from her damp forehead.

Guilt, an emotion he thought long since buried now gnawed at his insides; he used the bedsheet to wipe away the blood from her neck, and holding it over the small wounds his teeth had caused.

He thought of the similar scratches at her thighs from where he’d used one hand steadied her against the doors while the other slithered between his lovers legs, clawing at her skin and touching the most sensitive part of her roughly until she screamed.

At the time Proxima’s demand for his rough treatment had blurred the sense of reluctance he’d felt at first and it was only now that he realized the damage he’d caused in the heat of the moment.

Now though, Corvus kissed Proxima’s bare shoulder gently, curling her hair through his thin fingers and rubbed the top of her arm soothingly, waiting for her to speak, move, anything.

When she did finally speak Proxima remained facing away from him, leaning her head on her arm which was starched out above her head, “Thank you” she rasped, her voice thick with tiredness and emotion in equal quantities.

Corvus said nothing, only pressed a loving kiss to the base of her horn, she sighed and appeared to relax at this simple gesture.

After a few more minutes of silence Proxima steeled her resolve once more, sitting up she picked up the shirt she slept in from the floor (it had slid to the floor when the couple had moved to the bed) slipping the shirt over her head, Proxima looked to Corvus, who sat up along-side her.

Tucking a strand of hair behind her horn Corvus gave her a questioning look, but said nothing.

He didn’t have to because Proxima started to speak

“Thank you” she stated, “I know you want to know why I acted the way I did. I wasn’t ready for anyone to know before, but…since things between us changed, I feel I can trust you. More than I’ve trusted…anyone in my life” she revealed,

Unused to this feeling of vulnerability she already felt, the feeling would only grow as she continued

“I became little more than a stranger, not just among my people, but within my own home. I reached my sixteenth cycle and ran away from home. I had no choice since I got…I became…pregnant” she revealed.

Her voice became shamed upon seeing Corvus’ expression fill with shock and he sat up slightly

“What?” he gasped, choosing to believe he’d imagined it when Proxima flinched slightly.

“Rheanarians typically don’t have physical relations with anyone unless they plan to marry; I didn’t care for that tradition or many others my people followed. I was always being punished for questioning our people’s beliefs and why the traditions we were made to follow were so important.” She added, picking at something under her fingernail

“I knew I couldn’t continue to live in the same home as my family, if having no twin wasn’t shame enough, if they found out about my blatant disregard for tradition and had gotten pregnant they would make sure I was dead by sunrise. So left, I ran far away from where I was born to the docking stations, I found an abandoned attic above a warehouse and lived there.” Proxima explained.

Corvus spoke after a moment “How did you survive?” he asked.

Proxima shrugged

“Sometimes I’m not sure I know the answer myself but to earn credits for food and the like I lingered around the docking area loading and unloading supplies from the ships.

Normally taking what scraps of food and small items I could get away with no one noticing.” She told Corvus

“But…you were-” he didn’t finish the sentence, but his concern was evident.

Proxima sighed and nodded

“Pregnant, yes. But I needed food and supplies and it was the only work I could get, so I carried on for as long as possible. And I…paid the price for my carelessness. I miscarried one child but I managed to keep the other safe, with me until he was ready to be born…” she said, her voice and expression softened greatly at the memory.

Corvus swallowed thickly “And there was no one with you?” he said,

Proxima shook her head

“No, I gave birth alone in that attic. I didn’t need anyone else, to tell me what to do, what to believe in, how to raise my surviving child – no one to treat me differently because I only had one child instead of two. It was just my son and I.” her mouth curled into a small, sad smile

“For three months anyway” she pursed her lips as tears filled her eyes giving them the appearance of liquid fire blazing in their sockets

“Often, all he did was cry, like he knew I had no idea what I was doing. When he did there was nothing I could do but hold and sooth him until it stopped” she whispered

“One morning I woke up and he wasn’t crying, for a moment I was actually…relieved…” her expression twisted, disgusted with herself for a long moment before returning to normal as she continued

“But then…I don’t know, I could tell something was wrong. It was too quiet” Proxima continued

“I went to him and…he wasn’t breathing, he was cold…he…gone, just like that. Like my twin brother, like his twin when I miscarried her…” she gritted her teeth, willing herself not to cry.

“I suppose…he just wasn’t able to live alone, without his twin, like I’d had to. I must have stayed with him for a long time because the next thing I remember it was dark, I don’t remember where I buried him but I did. I had to give him that at least. I know I did because I remember the dirt under my finger nails…smoothing over the grave so no one would find it.” Proxima finished.

Her fist practically tearing into the sheets at this point, she focused only on the ach in her body, the throbbing pain between her legs, the sting of claw and bite marks that littered her skin – she deserved nothing less for allowing not only her twin brother to die as a child but the death of both her own twins.

By serving Thanos, by halving entire populations, Proxima told herself she was relieving others of a live of struggle and hardship, the struggle of living off of the bare minimum of resources and resorting to desperate measures to survive as she had done.

Her sadistic streak however was still very real, but had begun to develop long before Thanos found her, but he made sure to nurture that ugly part of her until she no longer remembered what it was like to not enjoy the thrill of a hunt, the adrenaline of ending another’s life for the good of the cause she served.

Here and now however, Corvus saw no trace of that battle-hardened, sadistic warrior Proxima had become in her time with the Order, instead he was witnessing a part of her she kept deeply hidden at all times and instead of revulsion, or betrayal as she expected, when she finally met Corvus’ eyes, Proxima saw only understanding, no pity and only a mild, tolerable, amount of sympathy.

Acceptance; that was what she saw as Corvus cupped her cheek, his thumb trailing over her cheek bone she took his hand in hers, holding it to her cheek

Her grip on his hand tightened and Corvus smiled slightly

“I’m glad you told me, that you trust me enough to tell me” he admitted,

Proxima gave a soft hum in response.

Her eyes were growing heavy and Corvus had her lay back down, holding her close to his chest so that she could feel the thud of his heart against her own; more erratic than her own, alive and beating.


	3. Her Clean Record

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Proxima speaks of the first time she killed.

_SEVERAL YEARS EARLIER_

“Who was your first?”

Proxima snaps her head in his direction, practically in danger of giving herself whiplash

“What?” she demands, heat rising in the back of her neck.

They’re awaiting rescue from a high security prison far outside the perimeters of Thanos territory, there’s little else to do but talk or sit in silence, and they’ve been here 6 hours already.

Unaware of the perceived double meaning behind his question, with his back resting against the wall, Corvus turns his head lazily to face her

“Your first kill, do you remember it?” he asks again, and Proxima almost wants to sigh in relief.

It is short lived however, because suddenly her mind is cast back to that day. The day she killed for the first time. Corvus sees her expression darken, her gaze become far away as she seems to become lost in the memory his question has provoked.

“If you would rather not speak of it…”

He wants to take it back, yet it is impossible, he can see that he has crossed a line but he must wait for her response to see if she will welcome him across that line, or push him back in his place.

Proxima clenches her fists against her thighs and exhales, readying herself to give her answer

“You know of my twin brother, how he died”

Corvus nods and Proxima doesn’t let on that her heart still aches to think of it, how her chest tightens and the vital organ pumping blood through her veins clenches until she feels like she can’t breathe.

“I was almost seventeen when I ran away. I paid a Ravager to let me board his ship and get off on the next planet they landed on” she continued

She decides that now isn’t the time to tell Corvus of the events between the time she lost her twin and her escape from Rheanys 5. That too is still painful, despite the years that have passed since.

Maybe one day she will but for now she sticks to the subject of his question.

_Her first kill…_

“The Ravager agreed, I paid him and he told me where the ship would be, what it looked like and that if I wanted to leave I would be there an hour after dawn the next day. With nowhere else to go I went to a tavern that rented rooms overnight.”

Proxima leant her head back against the wall, sweat clinging to her dark forehead, she stares up into the blackness of the locked room, it’s easier to tell this next part if she is no longer facing him

“I was at the bar, getting a drink. A male approached me and…as it was my last night on Rheanys’ 5, on a whim I decided…well, we went back to my room” she says bluntly, no use in mincing her words.

She hears him shift, her lover is a jealous creature by nature, a trait he has only started to show recently, after his profession of love for her, and she has to admit, she doesn’t entirely mind. Corvus reminds himself that she has had others, before him, just as he has and settles back against the wall, though not as relaxed as he was before, he still listens attentively as Proxima continues her tale

She’s flexing her hands agitatedly

“I didn’t think he would be there when I woke, but he was” Proxima rolls her eyes slightly

“I made some quip about not remembering his name. He laughed and told me again, and there was something…something about the name I can’t place. It was familiar but only just…t-then…”

She paused, remembering the way the room had spun, the cold sweat had erupted across her back, the slight tremble in her fingers as she’d gathered damp, grimy sheets to her chest and sat up, staring down at the male lying beside her in the that morning in the Tavern.

She continued

“I asked him if he had a twin sister called Espa. He did and that was when I realized why I knew him.”

Corvus frowned, watching as her amber eyes fell shut and when they opened again they were alight with rage. Proxima felt her throat clench as she opened her mouth but it was a few seconds before she was able to get the words out

“He’d killed my brother when we were children. He and his sister had been the ones we’d been arguing with, he’d been the one to push Centauri to the ground so hard that his skull cracked open…”

Proxima lifted a hand to her chest, digging her nails into her skin in the hope that it would ease the pain that lingered even so many years later…it didn’t.

“In my culture, a child of seven with no twin was…almost unheard of, my family was taunted, ostracised after Centauri died. We were one of the only families that were…broken.” She explained

“I said as much to him, and he recognised me right away. He froze. He was terrified. Yet I saw nothing but red, I broke the lamp next to the bed and held a shard of glass to his throat

Proxima’s eyes opened and she looked at her companion, a sadistic grin had started to form on her features

“I told him I wished it was his sister at my mercy because then he would have to live with the same pain, the same feeling of being only half real because someone took away something that should never be taken, ever…let alone at seven cycles old. But he would have to do. So…”

Proxima’s fingers twitched as she recalled the glass slicing the male’s jugular. She’d made sure it didn’t kill him right away.

The male lay on the bed, drowning and choking on his own life’s’ blood, clutching blindly at the wound in failed attempt to stop it as Proxima dressed, pausing to watch the light drain from her brothers murders eyes before leaving the room, paying her overnight bill and crossing to the docking station to find the Ravager ship.

In the present, Proxima sighed heavily; tears welled in her eyes despite her best efforts to keep them at bay. She looked to Corvus with an almost pleading expression

“When I realized who he was, that I’d laid with him…” her mouth curled in disgust

“It make my skin crawl even now, like thousand parasites gnawing at her from the inside out, for years I thought the feeling alone would kill me, for a while I even hoped it would. But eventually I learnt to live with it. Bury it far in the back of my mind so that it didn’t completely break me.”

She doesn’t speak of the rush she felt upon ending the life of the individual who had ripped her twin from her, how good it had felt to take her revenge, one day she will, because she knows if anyone will understand it is him. But offering him this part small part of her past seems to shift some burden she hadn’t’ realized she’d been bearing.

It’s perhaps only 15 minuetes later that a handful of Outriders swarm into the Prison, snapping up guards and prionsers without digression, the only ones un touched are Proxima and Corvus, who stand as Cull, with Ebony Maw levitating at shoulder height with his larger companion, enter.

“I certainly hope you two have used your little period of respite productively” the telekinetic quips

Corvus catches his glaive, which Cull has tossed his way, Proxima spear is thrown with it, she calls it to her hand seconds after it hits the floor with a clatter

“We did in fact” she answers their team mate briskly, a short nod of acknowledgement passes between herself and Corvus and they join in the slaughter of the prison guards.


	4. Her Freedom

After the death of her son, any ties she felt with her home planet turned to ash. She had renounced her family six months before and there was no going back.

Walking sluggishly, as though in a daze, with her hands still filthy with soil and mud, Proxima made her way to the docking stations, a hood pulled over her head to conceal her face from any that might recognise her.

It didn’t take much to find a group of Ravagers, drinking, picking fights with merchants and selling their ill-gotten gains on the black markets of Rheanys Five.  
Using what few hundred credits she’d saved from her work on the docks, she bartered her way onto the Ravagers ship. 

They were meant to drop her off at their next port. What she wasn’t told however, much to the Ravager clans amusement, was that they wouldn’t be docking for another six months.  
Proxima sat at the window of the ship, surrounded by the drunken snores of her passed out companions. They’d been traveling, drifting through space for months now and she was growing restless.

She wasn’t used to remaining confined for such an extended period of time. She was used to the rush of the wind in her hair, the rustle of twigs and stones beneath her feet. Sparring with her younger siblings under her fathers instruction.

She comforted herself with the view before her. she’d never travelled in space before, she’d only ever known her home planet, yet out there in vast, never ending void of space…were countless planets, civilisations to explore. 

Her dream of joining the Rheanarian Elite Guard had died. In a way, Proxima felt, it had died with Centauri. But as part of the Ravager clan…her youthful curiosity, her need to explore and learn about the universe she was part of…was reawakened, ironically by her inability to do just that.

To explore, to learn and be free.

The Ravagers where unruly, made up of mercenaries, pirates and criminals, there were still certain crimes which were forbidden – such as the kidnap, trafficking or any other business or dealing that involved children, which Proxima was secretly grateful for.

For months Proxima had been able to lose herself in the Ravager lifestyle.

Her fighting skills also improved significantly during her time aboard the Ravagers' ship. It started with random, periodic attacks by those who insisted that Proxima had no place on their ship.

A Ravager by the name of Ty had helped her, pushing her to her limits, like her he appreciated he ach and burn of coming out on top after a good fight, something that kept your mind on the present, not the future which remained so uncertain and certainly not the past, which was filled only with pain, regret and loss.

As a ‘guest’ aboard the Ravager ship, she was expected to abide by their rules and lifestyle, and what was even more expected, despite the fact that she was being kept, essential against her will, she learned to love it.

Ty was pink skinned and humanoid in appearance, and taller than Proxima by several inches. Along with helping to improve her fighting skills, teaching her to fire a blaster and Ty taught her to fuck; to abandon emotion and simply enjoy the pursuit of physical release, to block out everything else just for a short while and allow selfish, instinctual need drive you.

So when Ty had told Proxima to meet him in the hull of the ship she had known what to expect and for the most part it played out just as she had presumed.  
They fucked, they drank, they fucked again. And again. And again.

After finishing what was left of the bottles of ale, Proxima stood and started to leave.

It took only a couple of steps for Proxima to realize how sore she was, and just how drunk she had gotten.

A wave of dizziness sent her stumbling against the wall where she rested only to slowly fall to her knees.

The need to sleep became too much and Proxima rolled over to lie on her back, she saw Ty standing over her with his back ramrod straight he was joined by several other figures, all silhouetted in the dull light.

As she was pulled into unconsciousness, Proxima realized that like all good things in her life…everything was about to be ripped away from her.

She woke to find her mouth had been gagged and she her body strapped into a chair of some kind.


	5. Her Future

Proxima woke, strapped to a chair. Whatever drug she had been slipped left her head thudding painfully blood throbbing behind her eyes and pounding in her eardrums. As her eyesight started to normalize, she saw the leader of the Ravager clan, a rough skinned, muscled figure, standing with his back to her, facing a set of steps. 

Glancing around, Proxima came to the conclusion that she had been brought to a palace of some kind – no normal civilian could possibly reside in such bright, and grand surroundings. The dull sunlight streamed in through the large window, catching the white walls to a painful degree as Proxima crushed her eyes shut in the hope of easing the pain in her head.

The voices of the Clan leader and whomever he was speaking to were faint, garbled due to Proxima’s groggy state. 

The Clan leader backed away, revealing the person he had been conversing with.

The man was dressed in elaborate robes, possessed silvery grey hair, and oddly enough, like Proxima herself, a stripe ran down the center of his lower lip and chin, with his being blue rather than black and clearly painted on rather than injected with ink like Proxima’s.

The man happened to glance at Proxima and see that she was opening her eyes

“Hey, she’s waking up, way to go, some people bring me potential fighters, they don’t wake up for twenty four hours because of how bad they knocked ‘em out!” the man gestured with his hands as he spoke.

The Ravager Leader snorted “Amateurs, Grand Master, amateurs. So er, how much?” he said slyly, clasping and unclasping his hands

The man, this ‘Grandmaster’ immediately gave Proxima a feeling of unease…what did he mean by fighters?

The Grandmaster raised both hands “Hey come on, man, look…tell you what, stay right here, on Sakkaar as my guests, I know the perfect competition for this one, if she’s as good as you say! Tomorrow we’ll give her a little test drive, see how she fairs and we can talk shop then, how about it?” The Grandmaster offered eagerly.

If the Ravager was put off by the Sakaarian leaders flamboyant mannerisms he didn’t show it, instead he shrugged

“Eh, why the Hell not?” he turned to his crew “Whadda say boys, good food a good bed for a night, and a good fight to round off the trip, huh? Can’t fe fairer than that” 

The Grandmaster and The Ravager leader shook hands.

The Grandmaster had one of his attendants show the rowdy group to their rooms, Proxima glaired hatefully at the group as they walked past her, swearing in Rheanarian at Ty, who stopped and turned back to her , looking rather pleased with himself.

He grabbed Proxima’s jaw, forcing her to focus on him

“Sorry gorgeous. Just business” he laughed, releasing Proxima who jerked her head away, spitting at the Ravager that had deceived and drugged her. 

As soon as the Ravagers had left, the Grandmaster used a remote control to mover the chair Proxima had been restrained in  
“Wow, you sure do look like a strong one” the man enthused

“Go ahead, what’s you name sweetheart?” he asked

Proxima sneered defiantly 

“Give me one good reason I should tell you?” she snapped

The attendant beside the robed male offered him a long golden sceptre, but the Grandmaster, with a questioning sweep of his arms, turned to the attendant  
“What’re you, no I don’t want the melt stick, you idiot! She was just asking a question, jeez!” he waved off the attendant

‘melt stick?’ Proxima repeated in her head, that sounded…alarming  
“Proxima Midnight.” 

The Grandmaster looked in her direction once more  
“What’s that?” he asked

Proxima wanted to roll her eyes but the attendant still clutched the so called ‘melt stick’ in their hand so decided against it, her self-preservation instinct kicking in.  


“My name is Proxima Midnight of Rheanys Five” she said clearly.

The Grandmaster had apparently forgotten his own question

“Oh! Right, right, right! Sorry, being a…benevolent ruler, got a lot on my plate. I’d forget my own head if it weren’t screwed on tight, huh?” the man joked. Proxima remained unimpressed.  
.

“Ok, Proxima Midnight. I am the Grandmaster, this is Sakkaar. And I need fighter, for the fighting pits, ok?” he interrupted himself, glancing at his attendant

“We really gotta work on or whole brand name I mean, ‘fighting pit’ sounds a little…y’know? So have someone work on that, right?” he said quickly

The attendant agreed and the Grandmaster returned his gaze to Proxima once more

“So anyway, you are my latest contestant, right? Your buddies tell me you a fighter, Proxima Midnight!” he said enthusiastically  
Proxima glared at the ruler 

“I’d be happy to provide a personal demonstration” she threatened 

The Grandmaster laughed

“That’s good, that’s good” he snapped his fingers and his second attendant stepped forward, jarring Proxima’s head to one side  
.

“Agh! Get your hands off….Agh!” Proxima yelped as something was jabbed into her neck.

The Grandmaster gestured to Proxima, she tried to move her hands, to scratch at the sore spot left on her neck, it proved useless as her hands where still bound to the arms of the silver, levitating chair.  
.

Less than an hour later, Proxima was thrown to the floor of a filthy cell, her hair had been cut to rest a few inches above her shoulders, she’d been forced to strip, hosed down with a clear, vile smelling anti-bacterial spray that made her skin itch, and been made to change into a grey all in one suit with armour across the chest and down the spine.

Proxima stood, leaning heavily against the graffiti covered wall. She looked across as a guard opened the door, placed down a tray containing bowls of, what looked like stew, but smelled like something far worse, and leaving again. .

With a sense of disassociation, like she was there, experience all of this, but from a distant, dream-like state, Proxima watched her cell mates, of which there were about fifteen, crawling over each other, grappling, clawing, biting and kicking as they fought for a bowl of food.

Proxima realized, with growing dread that this was to be her life. 

“Get in there first next time”

The voice startled her, and she spun around to find a humanoid female, slight and fragile looking, sat against the wall opposite Proxima  
“what?” the Rheanarian frowned

The second female nodded to the dispersing rabble as they scrurried to their own corners to eat what they had claimed

“Next time, be near the door, you’ll be able to hear the guards footfalls as he come to the door, then you can be there first when he puts the food in, and get the best bowl.” She explained Proxima approached cautiously, the stranger jerked her head to remove jagged strands of hair that had fallen across her scarred face, the rest of her hair was cut short and shaved on one side .

“I’m Payton” she offered Proxima a handshake.

Despite her reservations, Proxima decided having an ally may not be a bad thing. But her trust had been shaken

“The last person I trusted is the reason I am here now in this cell” she said bluntly

Payton smirked and lowered her arm, apparently taking no offence to Proxima’s distrust

“You’re a fast leaner then, that’s good" she assured "Besides, I never asked you to trust me, just giving you some advice, it is your choice whether you take it or not. It’s about one of the only decision you’ll still be able to make for yourself here.” she said, running a hand back through her hair.

Feeling tired, Proxima sat on the ground, drawing one knee up to her chest

Tell me then Payton, what does the Grandmaster use these for?” she asked, pointing to the device clinging to her neck, Payton, she noticed, also had one, she assumed this meant the rest of the prisoners did too.

Payton answered simply 

“Oh, the Grandmaster doesn’t use them, much. It’s for the guards; they have a control that sends electric shocks through your body. Makes us slaves more compliant, ensures we can’t fight back or try to escape.” She explained.

Her lime green, cat like eyes blinked in the dim light of the cell.

Payton seemed insistent on offering Proxima Midnight as much advice and information about their surroundings as possible. And Proxima appreciated it in her own way, respected the stubbornness of Paytons’ character.

She urged Proxima to get as good a nights sleep as possible, she would need her rest if she was to survive her first fight.

“The only way out of this life, Proxima, is death. In the fighting pits of Sakkaar, if you want to die, you lose, if you want to live, you win.” Payton told her before letting sleep claim her.

Proxima Midnight wouldn’t realize it at first, but she would live by those words for the rest of her life.


	6. Her First Ally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the universe you’ve know has been nothing but cruel to you, there comes a point when you must, by the instinctual necessity you’re your own survival, remove yourself from it, from those around you, mentally and emotionally as much as possible.

The next day Proxima rifled through an array of weapons from the selection before her. She stood with Payton and a handful of others preparing for their respective fights. 

“So listen, this’ll be just a warm up fight. Grandmaster likes to have the lower level fighters in first to loosen up the crowd, get the in the mood for the real thing.” Payton explained, adjusting the gauntlets on her wrists.

Proxima nodded, but truthfully she had no idea what to expect. Even from here the roar of the crowd could be heard as the first fight came to an end. Proxima’s hand hovered over a simple wooden spear, only for Payton to grab her wrist firmly 

“Wait, not that one, not for your first time. If you want to live past your first fight you need something more…- ah here” 

Payton threw a weapon to Proxima who caught it with one hand before looking over it; the weapon she’d been offered looked like a long wooden fork with three prongs protruding from one end.  
Proxima looked sceptical but swung the weapon in her hand, testing its weight

“Hm. Looks pathetic” she scoffed, looking at the plain, polished wood

Payton shrugged and picked up an axe for herself

“Do what you want, just a suggestion.” she barked impatiently, tossing her head to flick the loose strands of hair from her eyes.  
A guard appeared in the doorway of the armoury 

“Proxima Midnight, you’re up!” the scaled, flabby skinned guard hollered

Payton looked from the doorway to Proxima

“Follow your instincts. If they tell you to duck, duck, if they tell you to strike, do it! Now get.” The older female indicated her head.

Proxima nodded, suddenly too anxious to make any sarcastic retort. 

Instinct, right.

There was little time to think as Proxima walked to the entrance, the bright lights of the Grandmasters stadium momentarily blinding her as she heard the Grandmasters booming voice amplify over the crowd, and apparently she’d missed his opening, introductory speech

“…Proxima Midnight!” 

She stepped into the stadium, looking over the thousands if not millions of faces now cheering and shouting from the stands. The Ravager leader along with several others had joined the Grandmaster in his private box, Ty sitting at the end of the long, comfortable couch.

Proxima felt a rush of anger in her veins.

‘thwack’

Proxima had been so distracted by her anger at her former Ravager group, she hadn’t seen her opponent dart towards her and punch her full force in the gut.

The Rheanarian female doubled over, she was beaten back several steps until she managed to stop herself, but by the time she looked up her male opponent had caught up to her and kicked her in the ribs, knocking the air from her lungs.

The male was taller than her by almost a full foot, and moved faster than any being Proxima had ever encountered before! She rolled out from under his feet and tangled her ankles with his, knocking him off his feet.

They tumbled across the floor until Proxima was brutally kicked away, hard enough to knock the air from her lungs  
‘slam’  
Her head spun with memories and flashes from her past.

Her family

Centauri

The daughter that had died inside her

The son she had protected and cared for, for three months before he too had been taken from her

Ty

Ty had used her, drugged her and helped the rest of the Ravagers bring her here, selling her to the Grandmaster…

Proxima opened her eyes, dizzy from the beatings, she could only make out the silhouette of Ty and the others in the Grandmasters box, and her anger surged, stronger this time…burning hot and thick like lava engulfing every cell in her body.

No. She was not going to die like this. She would fight, and win. Fight, and win, and repeat this cycle until she lost, and died.

Today was not going to be that day.

She flipped her body around her opponent, throwing him away as hard as possible, scurrying on her hands and knees she reached for the three pronged fork that had fallen from her grasp.   
The male she’d been fighting had recovered already and had flung himself at her, aiming several punches in Proxima’s direction.

She used the handle of her weapon to block his punches, hefting the spear back and hitting the male across the side of the head with the thickest part of the handle. 

Proxima got to her feet and stabbed him through the ribs, ripping the three points away and stabbing again, Proxima pushed against him so that she stood on his torso.

Her anger seemed to dissipate and an entirely new feeling washed over her, a rush of adrenaline and relief all at once. The male had come close to killing her, yet she had seized control of the situation, ending his life in place of hers.

It was only now, as she came back to herself that Proxima heard the crowds cheering and yelling louder than before. Proxima staggered away from the twitching body of her opponent as she made her way to the entrance to the stadium.  
Meanwhile in the Grandmasters booth, the Sakaarian ruler enthusiastically paid the Ravager leader

“Wow, you know I knew you wouldn’t let me down! Here you go buddy…” he transferred the credits to the Ravager who hollered gleefully over the shouts of his companions.

As Proxima limped back to the cells below the fighting pit, Proxima passed Payton who smiled smugly

“Told you that suited you” she commented, watching Proxima throw the bloodied weapon into a pile on the weaponry room floor

“And you’re menat to clean those after you’re done!” she said, but as Proxima turned, she was the mocking look Payton gave her  
Proxima chuckled and offered Payton her hand

Payton, still smirked, grasped it and returned the firm squeeze Proxima gave with her own

“I knew you’d make it. if you can make it through one fight here you probably got a good chance of surviving here” the red haired female commented, her new ally nodded once.  
And just like that, Proxima Midnight belonged to the Grandmaster as a Stadium fighter.

Over the next four months Proxima continued to prove herself, each time she was forced into the fighting pit she came out the victor. 

The violence and gore became a daily part of her life and very quickly she realized that the snap of bine under her fingers, the cries of the wounded that drowned on their blood on the stadium floor, and the very taste of death in the air bothered her less and less until she found herself numb, almost immune to it.

Payton became the only thing close to an ally Proxima had, and though there was still a sharp air of mistrust between them, given the conditions they lived in, and the fact that both females had been moulded by personal experiences, which they never spoke even to each other, there was still a shared sense of companionship between them.

When meals where brought to the cells, one of the two would fight to the front to grab the largest, hottest bowl for themselves but ppciked up the next largest, the next hottest, for the other.

Living in such conditions meant she soon learned to be constantly alert, always anticipating an attack; even in sleep she was able to wake at the slightest of sounds, not allowing herself to be left vulnerable. 

If Proxima ever became too pensive, too lost in her silent memories, Payton brought her back

Dwelling on the past did no good.’ Payton claimed.

Proxima agreed, in fact she did her best not to remember her past at all, it was full of pain and betrayal, instead Proxima focused on surviving, in the fighting pits as well as the cells.

‘Proxima jolted awake one night; it had been perhaps four months since her arrival, and she’d long ago become accustomed to the dull light that signified night time on Sakkaar, she sat up to see two of her fellow slaves holding down Payton and strangling her! 

The older female struggled, her gasps for air almost completely silent. 

Proxima threw herself into the fray; grabbing one of Paytons’ attackers and throwing him back against the wall and clumsily snapping the others neck, tossing him away from Payton.   
The shorter haired female sat up, breathing heavily, rubbing the bruises on her throat made by the other slaves hands 

“Thanks” she choked

Proxima nodded once 

“One down, one more to go” she smirked; referring to the two life debts she owed Payton.

Two weeks passed and Proxima had yet to lose a single fight in the stadium.

Another day, another fight

Proxima picked up her usual weapon of choice; the three pronged wooden fork that had become almost an extension of her own body in the time she’d spent on Sakkaar, it felt comfortable, it felt right in her hand. 

She noticed that Payton was absent, which was odd as she was one of the Grandmasters lower level fighters as Proxima was, they warmed up the crowd, prepping them for the main fight against the Grandmasters champion, but Proxima paid it little attention to it, even when you had allies, you had to put yourself first. Proxima had learned this long ago.

When the guard called her name and Proxima Midnight entered the fighting pit. She’d long since grown used to the distracting roar off the crowd and the blinding lights that lit up the stadium. 

Yet from the entrance, a few metres away, stood Payton, with a pair of daggers in her hands which rested at her sides. Proxima glanced to one side as she felt her nerves become frazzled, her palms started to sweat.

Suddenly Payton had lunged for her. Proxima repeatedly defended herself from Paytons’ attacks until the older female tripped and threw Proxima to the floor, driving her knee into her back and leaning down to hiss in her ear

“Fight! What are you doing?” she demanded

Proxima knocked Paytons’ knee away and swung around, kicking her in the jaw, only to be forced to raise her spear horizontaly in fron of her chest to deflect Paytons’ daggers from being plunged into her chest

“I don’t want to fight you Payton!” she snapped back

Payton took a step back and lunged again in a flurry of attacks

“You have to!” Payton insisted, their conversation remained hushed, unheard over the crowds, discontented with the rather sorry excuse of a fight.

Despite her fragile appearance, Payton was agile, and un-naturaly fast, her blades nothing but a blur as she repeatedly tried to stab Proxima. Payton trapped Proxima in a headlock, her jagged, blood red hair brushing her former allys’ face as Payton choked her

“Remember what I told you? Only one of us is going to get out of this one Proxima Midnight!” she whispered

Proximas’ eyes widened. No.

A series of shocks jolted through Paytons’ body, she went stiff and Proxima ducked down, swinging her legs in a semi-circle behind her, pinning Payton to the dusty stadium floor.  
They rolled and grappled for a few moments, the crowd becoming more excited as the fight finally seemed to become more entertaining.

Proxima came out on top, slamming Paytons’ head back into the floor, with her hand around Paytons’ throat Proxima pulled her wooden spear, and hesitated. 

Tears clung to the corners of Proximas’ amber coloured eyes. Payton had been the only person Proxima would consider an ally in this miserable existence, someone who had given her advice that had so far ensured her survival, and now, to ensure her own survival, she would be forced to kill her! 

Seeing the trepidation, knowing how Proxima Midnight must have been feeling, Payton chuckled.

Her nose was bloodied; her daggers had been knocked from her hands, leaving her defenceless and she didn’t even try to wretch Proxima’s hand from her throat

“Do it, it’s alright. I don’t want to fight any more, I’m done.” Payton chuckled humourlessly. 

Proxima shook her head slightly

“Payton…” she grit her teeth, yet her tears didn’t fall.

The red-haired female trapped beneath her met her gaze

“If you don’t end this you’ll end up paying for it! I don’t want to do this anymore Proxima, so end this now!” she urged, pretending to struggle furiously so suspicions would not be raised.

Proxima became numb, the crowd became a distant drone in the background, the feeling of Paytons’ throat contracting under her firm grip barely registered under Proxima’s fingers and her actions became the work of someone else. 

The wooden spear was driven down, the three prongs embedding themselves in Paytons’ stomach and chest.

Black blood spurted from Paytons’ nose and mouth as she struggled instinctively for a few seconds before becoming still.

Proxima slowly got to her feet, dropped her weapon in the pool of Paytons blood that had started to spread across the ground. With her head held high, Proxima finally let her tears fall.   
It would be years before she ever cried again after the death of her ally. Her friend. 

Proxima vowed never to let anyone close to her again. If this was to be her life, she decided, it was best to never affiliate herself with anyone around her. Any one of her cell mates would kill her with far less hesitation than she had shown for Payton.

Because what was the point in letting people in, letting yourself trust someone enough to let down your guard, if the universe was simply going to rip them away in an instant and remind you that, perhaps by divine decision and judgment, you somehow did not deserve anyone or anything.

When the universe you’ve know has been nothing but cruel to you, there comes a point when you must, by the instinctual necessity you’re your own survival, remove yourself from it, from those around you, mentally and emotionally as much as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Payton and Proximas relationship is mainly meant to be portrayed as a kind of distant friendship but my readers are free to interpret as they please
> 
> Kudos and Comments are welcome and appreciated as always :)


	7. Her Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After two years on Sakkaar, Proxima has become numb, to physical pain, to emotion, neither of these things will help her survive, and although her life is little more than a living hell, she refuses to become just another corpse to be disposed of.

Proxima picked up the wooden spear that had become an almost signature weapon for the only remaining female Stadium fighter. She saw no reason to choose a weapon that may fail her when this spear had not.

She’d been one edge all morning, she couldn’t deny that, she assumed it was due to the higher pressure of her upcoming fight that stoked these feelings, because today she would not simply be fighting as a ‘Crowd Warmer’ or lower level Gladiator, she had survived longer than most of the Grandmasters Fighters, and she had finally earned the right to challenge the Grandmasters Champion. Costel had been the Champion for a year and half now, none had succeeded in defeating him and few had lived to tell of their failed attempt.

She unconsciously scratched at the area of skin around the device attached to the side of her neck – a device used to control all of the slaves: it sent painful electrical currents through the wearer’s entire body and nervous system. All around her the crowd of fighters prepared for their respective fights – Costel was not among them since the Grandmasters Champion was a privileged position with comfortable private quarters, higher quality food and, rumor had it, a bath.

Despite her pessimism, Proxima thought about how today could be different. She could feel it, it was a trait passed down through generations of Rheanarians: to have a stronger sense of intuition and perceptiveness and she knew herself well enough to know that she would be proven correct in one way or another.

But Proxima Midnight knew she would not gain the opportunity to confirm for herself whether these things were in fact true – if she defeated Costel, in contradiction to the Champions rule of privilege, there had yet to be a surviving female champion who had been granted such things. This hypocrisy meant that she in fact, would take Costels' place in title and her role in the stadium only.

She would still be returned to her cell, with the electrical device still attached to her neck and the same bland, tasteless meals that simply served to keep the consumer well fed enough to fight and provide the Grandmaster with good entertainment. Proxima was not one to engage in nonsense such as gossip and rumour, in fact she couldn’t remember when she last engaged with any of her fellow fighters outside the Arena. But as she finished readying herself for the Arena, she overheard a pair of guards talking to each other from the door to the armoury

“You heard? The Grandmaster’s invited the Mad Titan to watch today’s fights!” the first said

Proxima almost tuned out in disinterest since it was not uncommon for the leader of Sakkaar to entertain ‘guests’ of all races and genders.

But then the second guard scoffed and continued, with a thicker accent than his companion.

“Tell me something I don’t know! Thanos is always sniffing around for followers to join his ‘Cause’. Once his forces have decimated half a planet, traffickers move in and take what and who they can. Some are brought here and the Grandmaster buys them as fighters and slaves.” 

Due to his accent, Proxima had to strain to hear and understand the guard, but she disguised her eavesdropping with adjusting her boots and cleaning her weapon. Finally, her name was called.  
\-   
Proxima walked into the Arena, numb to everything around her. After two years, she no longer noticed the roar of the crowd, the smell of death, blood and battle that seemed permanently embedded in the stadium floors and walls around her. 

She did however, let her in-different gaze flicker over to the Grandmasters booth, as brightly lit, expensively and extravagantly decorated as always.

Proxima felt a coil of contempt twist in her gut – perhaps one of the few things she was capable of feeling on this wretched planet. Beside the Grandmaster, who was enthusiastically introducing Proxima to the crowd, sat the being whom Proxima assumed to be the ‘Great Titan’, his size befitted the name, she supposed.

He was certainly large and imposing even from this distance. And beside the Grandmasters guest sat another male, thin, cloaked and looking about as bored as Proxima herself felt, was waving off one of attractive waitresses the Grandmaster liked to surround himself with.

The Grandmaster then introduced Costel with far more enthusiasm. Proxima had seen Costel fight many times, and had memorized his fighting style long ago, but he was still a head and shoulders taller than her, then there was his tail, long and thick with a spiked mace attached to the tip – Proxima had seen other contestants have every bone in their bodies crushed from a single swing or impaled by one of the several thick spikes.

The fight was long and laborious, but Proxima barely felt a thing: evidence of just how much she’d shut herself off from feeling and emotion in her time on Sakkaar, but still Proxima vowed that, despite always being prepared for it, she would NOT welcome death, not ever! She wasn’t going to die, not here; she wasn’t going to become another body to be disposed of! She would fight, and she would live!

With her ankle broken from Costels’ crushing grip, Proxima was forced to crawl a short way from him, her spear had been knocked from her hand but she was almost close enough.

Grabbing the handle, with Costel thundering after her, she closed her eyes and whirled around with a full throated cry, which melded with Costels’ enraged yell. Proxima tensed, and waited for the end. She’d given it everything she had, fought as long and hard as she could…Then there was silence.

But she could still hear her own, ragged breathing, feel the ach of exhaustion in her bones…and something dripping onto her face. Proxima slowly opened her eyes and turned her face upwards. Costel hung, impaled on the end of her spear which had pierced his chest, throat and mouth, the last blade was now protruding from the back of his skull. His blood ran down the strong wooden handle of her weapon and dripped on her face.

She’d done it. Proxima realized and as she did so, the crowd erupted into a roar of cheers, whistles and applause. Her arms shook with the force of having to hold Costels’ dead weight, so she stood slowly, and flung the corpse of her opponent aside, without acknowledging the crowd or her victory, Proxima limped away to the exit. Wanting nothing more than to return to her cell and rest, where she would await her next fight.

She blocked out the sounds of the finale two fights, and sat with her back to the wall and her knees drawn to her chest, too exhausted to even bother scratching her arm where it itched from the grime sticking to her sweat dampened skin. Honestly she’d gotten too accustomed to it for it to bother her anymore. 

Like the other twelve inmates that inhabited her cell, she was anticipating the guard that would bring their last meal of the day, as meagre as it was, Proxima had learnt to simply accept it for what it was, it would ease the empty ache in her belly and restore at least a little of her energy.

There was the familiar clank of steel as the door was opened and Proxima tensed and opened her eyes slightly, she would have to be fast if she wanted to eat at all. But instead of a guard holding a tray, was someone she did not expect.

The lean, cloaked male that had sat beside the Titan in the Grandmasters booth, he appeared to be looking for something but Proxima simply watched him pause and scan several faces before his gaze settled on her. From under heavily lidded eyes, Proximas’ amber gaze flared slightly as their eyes met and he stalked toward her with intent. 

One of the other contestants chittered as it tried to move, only to be swiftly kicked away for moving too slowly. It was only once he was standing before her that Proxima realized how tall the stranger was but he was far more than that, his very presence emanated power, intelligence and confidence. 

She regarded the weapon held with interest and caution: the metal-grey handle held several sharp, pointed, blades, however Proxima was determined not to be intimidated and scrutinized the cloaked figure before her.

“You were up in the Stands, with the Titan and The Grandmaster” she commented, the tall figure nodded.  
“I was.” He replied simply, 

As he spoke Proxima caught sight of a row of needle sharp teeth.

“Browsing? You look like one who likes their meals fresh.” She remarked

She inclined her head in the direction of the other contestants, maybe he would choose one of them instead. She hadn’t survived this long to become someone carnivores' next meal!   
The stranger however seemed unfazed

“You think me cannibalistic? Why?” he questioned.

Proxima shrugged “You just have that look…no offense.” she boldly quipped 

“So, what are you, the Titan’s lackey or something?”   
It was clear to her that the tall male was un-amused, because Proximas’ sharp eyes caught the way his claws twitched as a growl erupted from his throat

“I am the first General of Thanos, girl” he snarled threateningly

Girl? Proxima narrowed her eyes, deciding that the man before her had to be entirely devoid of usable brain cells to not see that she was Rheanarian, a species considered to be fully mature by 18 cycles.  
Yet she did not correct him, as much as she wanted to, in the vague hope that perhaps if she held her tongue he wouldn’t remove it from her mouth and feed on her still pulsating vital organs. 

She found it humorous however that she had gotten under his grey, wrinkled skin so easily.

He continued firmly

“…a member of the Great Titan’s Black Order.” by now he was standing only a few steps away, towering over Proxima.

A General. It made sense in her mind, his bearing said it all after all, but she sarcastically stated with a one handed gesture 

“Proxima Midnight, The Grandmasters Champion.” 

Her anger flared as another contestant cackled and began to goad her, reminding her of the fact that there had never been any female Champions. 

Proximas’ eye twitched in aggravation and she was about to lunge at the toad like creature, his next jibe however, was cut off when the guard bearing a tray of bowls opened the door, put the tray on the floor and slammed the door shut again in quick succession.

The Cells inhabitants began squabbling over bowls of lukewarm stew, including the male that had taunted Proxima.   
She rolled her head against the wall to face the stranger first however

“Excuse me a moment.” She requested. 

Without bothering to wait for him to respond, she reached for a large piece of stone that rested beside her and launched it at her cell-mate. The projectile hit him so hard that his skull cracked on impact, splattering the wall behind him with blood and brain matter. 

As the near-decapitated body slumped to the floor Proxima sauntered past the rest of the fighters, all of whom had fallen silent, some even cowered as she grabbed the largest bowl from the tray and returned to her place by the wall, crossing her legs and cradling the stone cold bowl in her lap

“If you aren’t finished talking you don’t mind if I eat while you do?” she asked 

She began eating anyway since she cared little for his response either way, not that she was in a hurry to eat the vile concoction, the lukewarm, lumpy liquid used to make her stomach churn and her throat contract, but she’d learnt to bear with it – it was the only thing she would be given after all.

The General glared at the bowl in her hands like he was almost relieved he was not the one having to consume it  
“Thanos sent me to speak with you. He asks if you enjoy the life you have here?” 

Proxima threw back her head and gave a hollow, emotionless laugh

“I live in a cell, with two cold meals a day if I’m lucky. Anyone of these…” she gestured to her group of cell mates

“…Would kill me in my sleep without a second thought.”

She almost couldn’t believe she was having to explain since to her it was plain as day, no one would actively, willingly, choose to live like this! Having already finished her sorry excuse of a meal she set the bowl to one side. “I hate my life here” she clarified.

He offered a sardonic smirk

“Then why not let your opponent put you out of your misery? Or take that spear you used and put it through your own chest?”   
Proxima frowned and glared at him, incensed

“My life may be pitiful, but I would rather be alive and miserable than be nothing but a corps to be disposed of.” she insisted.

She suppressed a shudder as his blood red eyes bore through hers, she felt suddenly exposed, and she felt as though he could see into her very thoughts, or worse, into her soul and reading everything he needed to know about her from a single long look.

Yet she found herself unable to look away, only reminding herself to blink when he suddenly spoke once more.  
“We’ll talk again.” He assured

He moved swiftly towards the door, having gotten what information he needed.

Proxima leant her head back against the wall

“Like I’m going anywhere” 

She hadn’t meant to spit the words quite so harshly, but it was instinctual, her skin crawled under his penetrative gaze yet he was a complete stranger to her!

Still…he seemed interesting enough. Arching her neck to watch him go, she called out at the last moment

“What are you called?” 

She couldn’t explain her intrigue and she expected him to leave without any further acknowledgment from the cloaked male but The General turned back and Proxima realized that her skin hadn’t crawled under his gaze, but tingled, like a gentle rush of adrenaline. 

“My name is Corvus Glaive” he responded, disappearing through the door.

Proxima leant her head back against the cracked wall. 

‘Corvus Glaive” she whispered under her breath before falling into a light sleep.

Her sleep was interrupted however when a pair of guards hauled her out of the cell, despite her resistance the device on her neck was activated, sending jolts of electricity sparking through her system.   
Another jolt made her knees give out as she screamed, a third jolt made her eyes roll in her head. 

But a voice made Proxima look up, Corvus Glaive stood watching in an almost bored fashion, he said something to the guard but her mind was still in the process of clearing from the series of electrical shocks, but the guards grabbed for her and pulled her in the same direction as the Titans’ General. 

Thanos sat on the end of the large bed in the apartments normally reserved for the Grandmasters Champion. 

These would be her chambers by right had it not been for the hypocritical, unwritten rule regarding female Champions. Proxima was dropped to her knees before Thanos, the Great.. or Mad, Titan, and his General, but Proximas’ eye lingered to his left, where Corvus Glaive climbed the first two steps to stand slightly below his master as he took his place at his side.

She answered Thanos' questions with as much respect as she could muster and she had listened as he had explained his mission, to balance the universe so that it would never know discontent, sickness or hunger ever again, because by destroying half of all life it provided life for those that remained.

After several minutes of discussion, during which she told him of the unwritten rule regarding female champions.  
Thanos got to his feet to descended the three steps from the raised platform

“Prove yourself to me, and I can promise you that that will not be an issue. As part of the Black Order; strength, ability and loyalty are the only things I deem essential, not gender nor race.” he explained.

Proxima frowned

"What is...the Black Order?" she inquired.

Thanos’ mouth curled into a grin.


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, after everything she's lost, Proxima has, at last, gained something, and its' not just a new life, a new purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to offer a huge thank you/ shout out to Takamatsu for doing some proof reading for me for this fic x

Present Day:

Proxima stood at the window of her chambers, watching planets and stars move past in a blur as the Sanctuary was piloted to its next destination. She let a small smile grace her lips as a pair of familiar arms embraced her from behind, the limbs that encircled her were thin, wiry but his embrace strong and reassuring. 

Proxima leant in to the warmth radiating from his form as Corvus kissed her temple.

“What has you so distracted my lady Midnight?” he asked quietly. 

Unmoved by the view of stars, planets and distant moons, Corvus kept his gaze lowered as he let his lips brush her skin as he spoke. The close proximity of his mouth and the base of her horn sent a light, pleasant shiver down her spine.

Proximas’ smirk widened. 

She and Corvus had been married over a year now and he was already uncannily in-tune with her emotions, habits, body language…everything, he seemed to be able to read her like a book, in-spite of her reserved nature, the walls she built to protect herself and her outwardly cold,, often stoic manner, he saw past all of it. 

And he loved her despite, or maybe because of what he saw underneath that: he was drawn to her stubbornness, excited by the bloodlust they shared and thrilled by her ferocity. He’d proved that and more many times over.

Proxima could only hope he saw that her own devotion to him ran just as deeply as his. 

“The past” she whispered, tilting her head as she lifted a hand to cover his own as it stroked her side.

Corvus offered a sound of understanding but Proxima shook her head.

“You misunderstand me, husband; I am not feeling sorry for myself. Dwelling on the past does not good, as you well know.” 

After taking a moment to consider her next words and course of action, she turned in his arms and wrapped her arms around his neck, her left arm, usually covered by gold armor to re-enforce its lost strength, was bare and littered with burns and scars that stood out in stark contrast to her grey-ish skin.

But they would fade with time, just as memories did. She met Corvus’ blood-red gaze, feeling that same intense feeling she’d felt all those years ago on Sakkaar, yet now, feeling that her soul was laid bare to him from that crimson stare tremors of delight coursing through her spine. 

“I don’t need to mourn what I’ve lost, what I could have had because I have you. I doubt I would be here now, had not not been sold to the Grandmaster …”

Corvus let his hands rest on her hips, almost wrapping his cloak around them both

“And I’d never have found you, My Midnight Star” he stated affectionately.

Proxima gave a low chuckle of agreement

“And you’d never have found me” she repeated before briefly pressing her lips to his. 

She could hardly argue after all.

**Author's Note:**

> The Sibling/Twin relationship described is highly inspired by the relationship between Deamons and humans in the His Dark Materials book series


End file.
